Page 2 of Perfect
Portland is different from Boston, but it’s nice. I spend most of my time walking around the city trying not to get wet in the near-constant drizzle and avoid people screaming on the sidewalks. I visit parks and explore the neighborhoods, eating at food carts and window shopping at vintage stores, finally starting to feel safe in my anonymity.
It takes two weeks before I find a woman who makes fake IDs. I barely sleep the night before I meet her, convinced that it could be a setup by the police or a sex trafficker. Even if it isn’t, she could rob me or kill me, but I’m desperate enough to risk it.
I don’t have much to lose at this point.
I’m numb as I press the buzzer on the old warehouse door and answer the garbled question coming from the speaker box. Someone buzzes me into a dingy stairwell, and I force myself to climb the stairs to the third floor. A thin, tattooed woman with gold facial piercings opens the door into what looks like an industrial print shop. I don’t miss how she takes in the fading bruises on my face before she leads me to a small back room, where she passes me a form and asks me who I want to be.
I stare at her for a long moment before looking at the paperwork she hands me.
WhodoI want to be?
I flush and stammer out an apology, asking her for a few minutes to figure it out. She offers to make up a name for me, but I tell her I’d prefer to choose it.
I get to make my own choices now.
I choose something that sounds close enough to my name that I’ll respond to it if I’m not paying attention, then write down a long, feminine version of the name. I keep my birthday and middle name, and I use the last name of my favorite summer camp counselor from childhood. I pass the woman thepaperwork and my Massachusetts driver’s license before I cake on makeup to hide the last of the fading bruises on my face.
Five minutes later, when I hold the new, fake license up to my old license, I heave a sigh of relief.
Alice Murphy doesn’t exist anymore.
I’m Alexandria Shearer now.
I pass over the money and give the woman the first real smile I’ve given anyone in a long time.
***
LOOKING FOR WORK & HOUSING
26 year old woman escaping DV situation looking for employment and housing.
I’m a quick learner, exceptionally reliable, extremely personable, and I am willing to do almost anything.
I can cook and clean, I have basic computer skills, and I have experience organizing charity fundraisers.
Will move anywhere.
No children, no pets.
No access to a car.
***
I wasn’t smart about how I worded my desperate Craigslist post, so I’ve been getting hundreds of solicitations for sex or worse every single day for the last two weeks. I’m tucked away in the corner of a large coffee shop scrolling through bullshit responses when one catches my eye:
SREED61, APRIL 17, 2023, 3:53 PM:
Hello, I have a receptionist position available for a small law firm in Astoria, Oregon. Our office is currently staffed by women only. Please let me know if you’re interested.
I respond, and the person must be at their computer because they message back a moment later. After a few messages, we arrange to meet later in the week for an interview, and I spend the rest of the week anxiously anticipating it. I’ve never had a job or interviewed for anything, but I know I need to look professional, so I buy a black dress and a pair of sensible heels.
On the day of the interview, I do my hair and makeup and show up at the restaurant fifteen minutes early, making sure not to show how nervous I am as I wait.
I’m good at hiding my feelings, good at lying, good at pretending everything is fine, because I’ve been doing it for years.
I stand up when a woman in her sixties with short red hair, thin eyebrows, and warm brown eyes approaches the table and introduces herself as Suzie Reed. Ineedto make a good impression, so I try to keep my nerves under control and force myself to be the charming, perfect version of myself I’ve practiced over the years.
It’s like a second skin I can pull on, familiar but slightly too tight.
